The Jane Fairfax Problem
by thoughtsthatfester
Summary: Jane Fairfax dies delivering a son, sending Emma into a panic.


"Oh no," she gasped, getting her husband's attention.

"Emma, dear, what is the matter?" He looked up from his papers. The two of them were seated in his study. Emma often joined him to read her correspondence. It was the one of the few rooms that Emma redecorated upon their marriage. He could not be expected to walk to Donwell Abbey each time we wished to write letters or go about his business as Magistrate. It was more feminine than his taste, but Emma worked hard to decorate it for him.

"Jane Churchill has died delivering a son." She was white as a ghost. She and Jane had never been close, but they'd taken up a sort of friendship in recent months and had been exchanging letters. Marriage had taken them out of competition with one another (despite how one-sided that competition had been). They'd bonded over their condition. Jane had no one but Emma to talk to about such a subject.

"And the child?" He asked, dropping his papers on the desk.

"He lives, though he is a sickly boy."

"Such a tragedy, Emma. And poor Frank."

"Poor child! I do hope Frank doesn't take after his own father and send the boy away," Emma cried.

"I cannot see how he could. Jane has no family other than the Bates' and they cannot take him. I find it unlikely the Dixon's would take on the challenge. When he is old enough, he will go away to school, but until then, he will stay with Frank."

"George," she began, her hands resting on her own rather large stomach, "if anything is to happen –"

"Emma-"

"Please, let me say it. It must be said. If anything is to happen to me you must promise not to send the child away, even if Isabella insists. He or she must grow up here in Highbury with you."

"Emma, nothing is going to happen."

"You cannot know that for certain," she cried, tears forming in her eyes.

"Your sister has safely delivered many times."

"I do not wish to speak about this further. Oh, but father must be told. He must be told. He cannot hear it from anyone else."

"I will tell him. I do not think he will take it well, especially with you so close to delivering."

"I think it could be a comfort if I were to tell him."

"Perhaps for him, but I do not think it best for you, not if you're already worried."

"I'm not worried, I'm being realistic. _Mothers die,_ George."

"Emma, it will do no good to talk this way."

"Then we will not speak of it again."

"I do not wish to quarrel with you."

"I am going to lay down. Wake me when it's time for me to dress for dinner."

She slammed the door of his study on her way out. He made no effort to follow her. Her emotions had not been stable since she'd learned she was with child. It was best not to argue with her or talk to her when she was in a mood. It would pass quickly and all would be well.

He had told her father about Jane while Emma slept. Mr. Woodhouse spoke of nothing else during dinner. He was upset with both of them for getting involved in something as disagreeable and dangerous as family expansion. _Mothers die,_ he declared at least a dozen times during the meal. Emma excused herself as soon as everyone was finished eating.

Knightley helped his father-in-law to bed before going to join his wife.

"George," she said, her voice breaking the silence as he tried to climb into bed next to her. "I wish to spend the night alone."

"Emma –" he began. They had rarely been apart during their marriage. Though it was difficult to get used to at first, sharing a bed, they had had grown accustomed to it.

"Please."

"I do not want you to be upset with me," he sighed.

"I- I will feel better in the morning."

"Very well. Goodnight. I love you."

"I love you, too."

The weeks passed quickly and soon Isabella had arrived to attend to her sister. Things had improved between the Knightleys but Emma remained distant and not entirely herself. She made a point to vocalize her plans for raising her child. She wanted someone to know her opinions on things incase the worst was to happen. She had even started writing letters. She wrote some to her husband and some to her future child. She was not sure if it would be a boy or a girl so she wrote letters for each situation. Knightley held his tongue when she carefully detailed how she wanted their child to be raised. Things had been tense since Jane Churchill's passing. He did not want to make the situation worse.

"Were you ever scared before your lying ins?" Emma asked Isabella one afternoon while they were taking their tea.

"No."

Emma's mouth opened in shock. "But you worry about so many things!"

"Yes, but there is no point in worrying about things over which you have no control. Either you will live or you will die."

"I'm scared."

"Your husband has told me."

"I was not until Jane. Well, she has always been so much better at everything than me. I thought she would be a natural. I was envious of what a good mother she would have been."

"There is no need to worry. Emma, dear sister, I worry about everything so believe me when I tell you that everything is going to be alright."

Days later, Emma was in labor. It had woken her up in the middle of the night. At first it was not so very bad, but it soon progressed into the worst pain of her life.

"You are doing so well, Emma." Isabella reassured. It had been a long night and it was already the late afternoon. Isabella was exhausted; Emma even moreso.

"I am so tired," she said with a weak sob.

"Just one more push. It will be over soon."

And like that, Emma had borne a son. He was red and blotchy and screaming but he was the most beautiful creature she had ever seen. She knew she was not out of the woods yet, but she felt relief. She was holding her screaming son.

"What is his name?" the midwife asked.

"Edward," Emma smiled. "Edward George Knightley."


End file.
